Tilt
Drifting vacant skies, forever on wings,
Is little blackbird, whose heart ever sings!
Soaring in mellow sunshine, nowhere a care,
Like a Parkside picnic in the sunny glare!
Darling of the blue, and marshmallow clouds,
At times seen alone, oftentimes in crowds!
Pretty blackbird, which place is your home?
And whatever wanderlust causes you to roam?
Gracefully you fly on gold skies of late July,
As the last moments of one summer day tick by;
But, too soon the whole world loses its light,
And you vanish into the ebony, kindred night!
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